Cadeyrn wakes in the early hours of the morning, before any of the others have risen. He leaves for the washroom and rinses himself, undoing his braid and washing the dirt and dust from his hair. With his hair still dripping, he redresses and exits. In the torch-lit hall, he wanders about until he reaches the gigantic library.

He stares up at the ceiling, marveling at the intricate patterns carved into the stone. Then he approaches one of the bookshelves, runs his hands over the spines of the books. He pulls one out and flips through it idly before stowing it back into its place and picking out another. He continues until he finds one with pictures, and then he sits on the floor, tracing the drawings with his finger. There are lots of different and pretty circles, with lines and dots running through them. One of the drawings shows a mage casting magic while standing on one of the circles, and another shows a monster being blown back after trying to step on a different circle.

So taken by the book was he that before long, light begins to pour through the arched windows and people enter the library. Cadeyrn flinches at the sound of an explosion, the book dropping from his lap. He looks around and sees mages scattered throughout the room, some of them practicing magic, others scribbling away at the tables. He quietly puts the book down and moves between the bookshelves. In the next section of the library he sees a red-haired woman mage and a pair of children. The boy and girl look younger than he by a few years. They are both fair-haired and pale.

He approaches the group. The mage notices him and beckons.

“So you’ve arrived at last,” she says. “Cadeyrn Cledd, yes? Newest mage apprentice to the Circle?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a weird name,” the boy whispers to the girl, who giggles.

“All right, let’s get started with today’s lesson. Now, the Chantry teaches us that magic is meant to serve man, and never to rule over him…”

The mage lectures on the history of magic and something called darkspawn, telling them how the ‘folly of the Tevinter magisters’ lead to the corruption of a place called ‘the Golden City’, and how they came back as monsters. She says that after, people stopped believing in ‘Old Gods’ and instead followed Andraste, and after she died the Chantry locked up all of the mages. It is an interesting lecture, though Cadeyrn doesn’t understand why she isn’t teaching them how to wield magic and defend themselves from demons.

She wraps up with a lesson on how to behave in the library and how to treat the books with care and respect, as many of them are decades older than any of them. The Enchanter makes it clear that mistreating any of the books would end very, very badly.

When the mage dismisses them with instructions to study from a history book, he waits until the children have gone before questioning her about the use of learning history.

“It is essential to know the roots of our powers,” she states primly. “You must learn the dangers and know the consequences of your powers before you can be allowed to use them.”

“And learning ‘bout what some other folk did a long time ago will teach that?”

“Cledd, if you do not understand this, you must surely study more! Here, I will give you a book of the basics. This will help you catch up to your peers.” She walks to a bookshelf and pulls out a thick tome. She passes it to him, and he grunts as he takes the heavy book. “It is unfortunate that you came here late in your childhood. I understand that it is more difficult to adjust the older you are, but that is what you must learn to do.”

“I don’t-”

She holds up a hand. “Read. The next class is tomorrow morning, and I expect you on time. Good day, Cledd.” Then she leaves.

Cadeyrn looks down at the heavy book. He sighs deeply. He misses the pigs and the sows, their comforting and wordless companionship. They never expected anything from him that he could not give. There is no point to dwelling on what he has lost, however, so he drags himself out of the library and into the hall. He finds an isolated corner hidden behind one of the decorative walls, the kind that are stone arch windows filled by wrought iron, woven like vines.

He traces the thick cover of the book. He knows that the first word of the title is “The”. The next word begins with an H, then an I. Then there is a squiggly snake letter. He traces its shape with his finger, tries to think of what it is, and eventually remembers that it is an S.

“The… His-to-ry,” he mumbles.

“Of,” he says, tracing the long twig-like letter after the O.

“M… A…” He struggles with the next letter. The two letters after it are E and S. “M-A… E-S,” he mutters, squinting. He huffs.

“Mages,” he guesses. He still doesn’t know what the missing letter is, but he is sure that the strange circle with loops like curled hair must be part of the word ‘mages’. He reads the full title aloud: “The History of Mages.”

Cadeyrn flips despondently through the book, which has a side thicker than his arm. It will take him a very, very long time to read this. He will probably be as old as First Enchanter Irving.

But there is another way.

He drops the book and hurries upstairs.

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The First Enchanter isn’t in his office. At least, he thinks so. The door is closed and locked, and no one answers when he knocks.

Cadeyrn walks back through the hall. A templar asks if he is lost, and he says no. He ends up standing in the large circular room where the staircase to the first floor is. He doesn’t want to go back and try to read. Irving had said that the Tranquil live in the tower with all the rest; perhaps he should try and find one? He looks around and sees a group of mages storing and moving supplies in a walled-off section of the room, so he walks up to the mage standing by the entrance.

“Welcome to the Circle’s stockroom of magical items,” the man says in a lilting yet emotionless voice. “My name is Owain. How may I assist you?”

“Do you know where the Tranquil are?” He asks, watching a bald woman pull several flasks of toxic-looking liquid from a box.

“Yes. I am one of the Tranquil. So are the others behind me in the stockroom. How may I assist you?”

Cadeyrn blinks in surprise. “You’re really a Tranquil mage?”

The man explains, “I voluntarily submitted to the Rite of Tranquility. I was unwilling to undergo the Harrowing.” Just as blankly as before he remarks, “I find this state agreeable.”

Everything the man says is neutral, almost calming. Cadeyrn finds himself relaxing as he asks, “What’s a Harrowing? And the Rite of Tranquility?” They sound familiar, and he thinks Irving had told him yesterday, but he can’t quite remember.

With seemingly endless patience, the man answers. “The Harrowing is a test all apprentices must take in order to be recognized as mages. Those who do not wish to or cannot undergo the Harrowing must submit to the Rite of Tranquility to be made tranquil. We are different from mages.”

Cadeyrn isn’t sure what to make of this. “What do you mean? You look like anyone else.” He remembers what Irving said. “Not… having emotions?”

“Yes. I remember the days when my mind was filled with inconvenient and seething emotions. Now things are simple.”

Simple. That sounds… nice. “What was it like to become a Tranquil?” he questions, curious.

“It is difficult to describe. I would perhaps compare it to being plunged into a pool of ice-cold water.”

This takes him aback. “That seems terrible,” he admits quietly. He doesn’t understand. How could anyone willingly give themselves to the ice? To live that way? “It’s like you’re not even human.”

But Owain does not think so. “My body is similar to yours, possessing an equal number of limbs, appendages, and internal organs. I perform the same physical functions. My mind is capable of higher thought processes. Am I to be denied personhood because I do not feel as you do?”

Cadeyrn quickly shakes his head. That isn’t what he means. “You are a person. It’s just…” He huffs, trying to think of a way to shape his thoughts. In the end he asks, “Just, what do they do to you to make you tranquil?”

“I was ordered to never speak of it. I cannot go against the Circle’s wishes.”

“You… cannot?” Something about that does not sound right. “Or will not?”

“I belong to the Circle. I cannot go against the Circle, and I do not wish to.”

“Because you like the Circle?” he asks, unnerved.

“I do not have the capacity to feel like or dislike.”

Something splinters in Cadeyrn’s mind. He shakes his head and asks a final question.

“But even if…” he begins. “Even if someone you used to hate came up to you one day and - and threatened someone you love, to kill them, you wouldn’t feel a thing? Would you do anything?”

“I do not feel hate or love,” Owain says, as plainly as if he were reciting a recipe for making barley stew. “Circle protocol states that the tranquil must inform the nearest Enchanter or templar of any threat to the Circle. I would therefore inform the nearest Enchanter or templar if the situation requires intervention.”

Cadeyrn simply stands there, speechless for a moment.

Even dogs can go against their masters. Who were these people, to live forever in the ice, to not feel and not consider their best interests for themselves? To simply live and exist with no will other than what they have been told to do? He could not bear to live this way, with his heart frozen. He doesn’t comprehend exactly why, but he feels a great fear for these people. And most of all, he feels terrified by whatever forces could have made them this way.

“I see,” he says, feeling cold.

He thanks Owain for his time and turns to leave. In his haste he accidentally runs into Irving, who grunts as Cadeyrn rams his head into the old man’s diaphragm.

Cadeyrn steps back, apologizing profusely.

“It’s fine, my boy,” the First Enchanter rasps. “Though I must say I am surprised to see you in the Senior Mages’ Quarters. Were you looking for me, perhaps?”

Cadeyrn’s shoulders droop and he nods, not feeling much up to talking anymore.

Irving’s gaze wanders towards the stockroom. “Have you met the tranquil? I recall you said you wished to become one yourself, correct?”

Appalled at the prospect, Cadeyrn shakes his head vigorously. “I… met Owain,” he says.

“And afterward you changed your mind?” Irving asks, leading him away from the stockroom.

Cadeyrn nods, not looking up from the ground. “Why would someone do that to them?” he asks, voice fragile. Irving sighs, long and tired.

“Some consider it a better fate than being possessed by a demon and becoming an abomination. Indeed, there are always a few apprentices who choose to undergo the Rite of Tranquility for fear of being possessed. Others, however…”

The man trails off. Cadeyrn glances up at him, seeing the regretful expression on the man’s face.

“Others we feared would not withstand the Harrowing, and so we chose it for them. The apprentices who were weak at heart and would easily succumb to the demons’ temptations, and those whose magical abilities had been undeveloped for so long that we feared they might one day be overpowered… It is a difficult decision but, as you can see, they are content with their lives now. They no longer live in fear of the darkness from the Fade.”

Cadeyrn swallows, unable to speak.

The First Enchanter sighs again. “I am afraid this conversation might have been too much for one so new to the Circle as you, child. You will not have to worry about these matters for years yet, I am sure. Forgive me for rambling on so; now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my office. Good day, Cadeyrn.”

The man leaves as Cadeyrn processes what he has just learned.

The mages turn all of the weak ones into Tranquil. They turn them into emotionless slaves who exist to serve the Circle, even if they didn’t choose it, just because they weren’t strong enough. But if they don’t - if the weak mages aren’t turned tranquil, then they become possessed by demons.

They become monsters.

He returns to the corner where the thick book remains abandoned and begins to read, stumbling through the mess of letters.